Folklore has it that during the fall, especially around Halloween, the "veil" between this world and the next, the world beyond death, becomes thinner. That being the case, the appearance of apparitions and specters, and perhaps the ability to see them, increases accordingly.
And my house has decided to behave in appropriate fashion.
All of you who read me routinely know that when I write my ghost stories, I experience a rise in noises, footsteps, banging sounds, and knocks throughout my house while I'm working. It gets to the point where I'm not the only one hearing them, so I know it's not just me. Something goes on in this place whenever I write about the denizens of the beyond.
Good friend and fellow ghost-story writer Terri Reid dropped over one afternoon for a visit recently, and just as she was about to leave, standing in my front hall with her hand on the doorknob, she stopped and said to me, "Is this the hall you said is well-traveled?"
She was referring to my story that a psychic had once told my daughter that our house, while not traditionally haunted, is like a pathway for the dead. And we all pretty much agree that they travel from west to east along that very hallway where Terri and I were standing. I couldn't help laughing at her question. "This is it," I answered.
She just nodded at me, hand still on the doorknob, and said, "Yes, I can feel it, all the energy." She smiled at me and took her leave. (Only a ghost-story writer and a woman like Terri Reid could pull off an exit line like that!) But it did verify for me that another sensitive would pick up on the vibe in that hall, even though I didn't mention it to her during our short visit.
I have been working on book Bridgeton Park Cemetery book 6, as you all know, and of course the house is throwing everything it can at me. Only now, it's not confining itself to those times when I'm at the keyboard. Oh, no, now I'm getting footsteps up and down the hall while I'm taking a shower (really, guys?), movement and shifting in the utility room behind me while I"m cooking dinner, and--best for last-- yesterday when I stood up after putting on my shoes, my pocket knife flew off the bed, followed closely by my St. Benedict medal, which promptly hid itself under a cabinet and way back against the baseboard. The pocket knife I understand: I hadn't gotten it into my pocket yet and maybe the clip of it caught on my pants somehow and sent it clattering to the floor.
The medal, on the other hand, had to sail at an angle almost perpendicular to how it would have fallen on the floor in order to wind up under that cabinet. Not only that, unlike the knife which wound up close to where I was standing, the medal launched itself several feet away from where it started. And it was my St. Benedict medal, after all. The one I keep with me for protection. (What, me worry?)
There have been other things, too. For instance, I'm pretty sure there's a woman who hangs out in my utility room, right by the door to the garage. I don't know why she's there, or who she is, she's just there. I run into her a lot when I use the powder room at night. But she's different from the other woman who used to cross my front lawn and disappear around the southeast corner of the house. That particular visitor looked to be from a different time, wearing a long blue gingham dress and always with one hand up to the side of her face, as if to hide the fact that I think she's distressed and probably weeping. I saw her a few times, but I think she's gone on. Our house is just a pathway, after all.
So during this month--while we're all enjoying the brilliance of the leaves; the apple harvest that brings pies and cider and (yum!) apple cider doughnuts; the first gatherings around the fireplace; the appearance of sweaters and boots for the fashionable--remember that for a short time, we're more likely to see those that have gone on before us. Keep an eye open for them: everyone likes to be noticed!
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